


life is a highway

by parnase



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parnase/pseuds/parnase
Summary: Grantaire’s smile comes back, and Enjolras wants to lean back into him, to press their shoulders together, to feel that smile against his lips. He isn’t usually like this; he isn’t usually infatuated with someone minutes after meeting them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a prompt post on tumblr (I can't find it though) "Life is a highway, and I'm always drunk so I'm not driving.  
> It took me longer than it should have to type it up because a) my dad thinks every spare moment I have should be spent cleaning and b) it was meant to be s h o r t e r omg  
> Anyway I hope you enjoy it!!

 

Grantaire was little more than a myth to Enjolras. Almost all of his friends knew him.

Bahorel met him during a bar fight; Jehan met him at a poetry reading; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had been friends with him since high school; and Feuilly worked at a candle store with him for a while.

The point is, Grantaire had started to intrude on Enjolras’ life a long time ago, and he was constantly hearing stories of his escapades (punching a cop in the face for harassing Jehan and then actually  _ escaping _ the police, accidentally acquiring a sugar daddy and using his money to pay for pole-dancing lessons, living in a random frat house for two weeks before anyone realized).

It didn’t exactly paint a portrait of what to expect when Enjolras first meets him. To Enjolras, although he’s erratic, Grantaire seems to be a person worth being friends with, if the way Jehan’s eyes like up when they speak of him is anything to go by.

Bahorel’s shouting them all drinks at the Corinth because he finally gave up on law and decided to pursue his dreams of being a chef, and when Enjolras hears that Grantaire will be there he decides to finally sate his curiosity.

There’s a large uproar, mainly Bahorel’s booming voice, when Enjolras and Combeferre walk in, and Enjolras gives his friends a polite smile. There’s people he doesn’t know - a girl with dark hair and hungry eyes, a man wearing inappropriately-fashionable clothes and a coldly happy expression, and another man, drinking from a bottle and talking with Feuilly, his cheeks and ears red from the warmth of the bar, his black hair curly.

“That must be Grantaire,” Combeferre points out mildly as they near their friends.

“I’m going to introduce myself,” Enjolras announces, watching and trying to match the man to the legend. He’s certainly lively, laughing joyously at whatever Feuilly says.

Combeferre grabs his arm. “Are you sure that’s wise? You’ve been rather tense since you shouted at your neighbour this morning, and when you’re angry you make a terrible first impression.”

Enjolras pats Combeferre on the shoulder as he passes him. “I’ll be nice, ‘Ferre.”

As he’s walking to Feuilly’s side, Grantaire’s eyes meet his and for a second, he sees something there, like pleasant surprise or some sort of recognition. It’s explained when Grantaire says, “You’re Enjolras. The fearless leader. The activist.”

Enjolras stops beside Feuilly and narrows his eyes. “How much have you had to drink?” he asks, because the lazy lull in his words is hard to ignore.

He hears a quiet sigh from Combeferre before he wanders off to find Courfeyrac, probably, and quickly backtracks. “I mean, uh - It’s nice to meet you, Grantaire.” He holds out his hand.

Grantaire eyes his hand with a smirk on his face, before shaking it. He holds onto Enjolras’ hand a moment too long, and Enjolras pulls free to turn to Feuilly.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Feuilly notes, giving Enjolras a friendly slap on the back. “I heard you attacked your neighbor like a rabid dog with strong political convictions.”

Enjolras shrugs. “He was a bigot. I don’t have to pretend to respect his opinions.”

Feuilly nods, but Grantaire leans forward. “Isn’t that one of society’s morals, though?”

Enjolras looks at him, and he’s not sure if he’s seeing a drunken provocation or genuine curiosity, but he answers nonetheless. “I respect opinions unless they degrade or harm others.”

He gets an answering nod. “And I suppose you’ve convinced yourself that respecting opinions doesn’t mean you can’t change them if they aren’t yours.” 

There’s a million harsh responses that come to mind in retaliation, but Grantaire’s tone is light and teasing, and Enjolras finds it easier to reply with a casual, “Of course,” that puts a wide smile on Grantaire’s face and gives him a small huff of laughter.

Enjolras’ heartbeat quickens slightly, and he works to keep a neutral face.  _ Oh _ .

An arm around Grantaire’s shoulders interrupts his turmoil (though it takes him a couple of seconds to stop staring at the upturned corner of Grantaire’s mouth), and Jehan grins at him.

“You’ve finally met Enjolras!” they exclaim. “Isn’t he great?” They’re a notorious lightweight, and it looks as though they’ve had a few drinks already.

Grantaire gives Jehan a smile, but he looks at Enjolras when he answers, “Yeah, he’s something,” and it fills Enjolras with impulse and lack of direction. 

Feuilly leaves, probably to get Bahorel off the table he’s currently standing on. Courfeyrac spots Enjolras across the room and grins widely, making his way towards them. There’s danger in his smile and Enjolras is understandably wary.

“Evening, gentlemen!” Courfeyrac announces, giving Enjolras and Jehan a light kiss on the cheek and throwing himself at Grantaire. They catch each other and laugh. Courfeyrac twists around to look at Enjolras.

“Did I tell you how I met Grantaire?” 

Grantaire groans, but there’s a small smile on his face despite the blush. Enjolras is suddenly very interested in what would provoke a reaction like that.

Courfeyrac carries on without a reply. “He was at a club with Joly and Musichetta. So I was there to dance, of course, and girl starts screaming at me because I was dancing with her man.”

There’s already laughter in Jehan’s face, so they’ve heard the story before. Enjolras thinks it sounds vaguely familiar himself.

“And then there is this beautiful man beside me. He looks at this girl for a moment and says, “Your boyfriend is gay, I was just blowing him in the bathroom.”

Enjolras’ laugh is part horror and part shock, but despite the scandal he sees Grantaire duck his head in embarrassment.

“Did you really-”

“Nah,” Grantaire replies, but he’s got a charming grin on his face that isn’t to be trusted. “But she didn’t know that.”

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac carries on, “then I discovered he was Joly’s friend, and I got to meet the wonderful Musichetta, and all in all that was a beautiful night.” He grins up at Grantaire impishly. The easiness of their interaction sparks an emotion Enjolras isn’t used to having. He wants to have that, casual discussions and casual touches with the man that had always haunted him via his best friends.

“Why would you do that for a stranger?” Enjolras asks him. 

Grantaire shrugs. “He obviously didn’t deserve someone screaming at him like that.”

“Aw, my  _ savior. _ ”

‘You’d do that for anyone?” The surprise in Enjolras’ voice is accidental but Grantaire doesn’t look offended.

“It’s usually an impulsive decision,” he brushes off dismissively.

“Life is a highway,” Jehan announces. “And Grantaire’s not driving because he’s always drunk.” They snicker into their glass and Grantaire huffs in amusement. At Enjolras’ look of confusion, they add, “R goes where the nights take him.” At that moment there’s a crash, and they all look over to see Feuilly standing on a table and reaching out to Bahorel, who has obviously fallen off, trying to stifle his laughter and drunken hiccups.

Grantaire gets roped into their antics and Enjolras finds himself next to Combeferre - who is trying to accommodate to a drunk, clingy Courfeyrac - watching as Feuilly reenacts something while Bahorel struggles to pull him off the table with a face red with embarrassment. Grantaire is laughing - it’s more of a loose giggle.

Courfeyrac elbows Combeferre. “Enjolras is giving Grantaire bedroom eyes,” he whispers loudly.

Enjolras glares at him. “I am not. Bedroom eyes aren’t even a thing.”

“They’re more intense than your usual eyes.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that was possible,” he murmurs.

Enjolras looks back at Grantaire. “Why doesn’t he come to our meetings? Has anyone invited him?”

Courfeyrac snorts, and it’s not attractive at all. “All of us have been dying to know how you two would get along. He says it’s not his thing, though.” He pokes Combeferre in the cheek. “You would like him. You can both have boring academic conversations about literary trends or climate change.”

Combeferre murmurs a reply that’s lost in Courfeyrac’s hair and Enjolras looks around for friends that aren’t going to third-wheel him. Usually Courfeyrac and Combeferre were fine, but they’re unbearable when one of them is drunk.

Instead of finding a friend, Enjolras eyes the sofa dangerously close to the dartboard, but he takes his chances - and the drink Jehan ordered for him - and sits down on it. He takes a minute to look over at all his friends - they’re all laughing and hugging and talking as though the night would never end, and Enjolras has a faint smile on his face as he witnesses the revelry unfold. He’s never been a part of the wild stuff his friends get up to - mainly because they seemed to involve Grantaire - so he’s wondering just how crazy the night would get. 

He’s about to pull out his phone so he wouldn’t look demented, smiling at his friends while sitting alone on a couch, when it dips next to him and Grantaire is there.

Enjolras freezes for a second, because he hasn’t been this close to him and the man smells like vodka and paint, a strangely sweet mix.

“I’m not bothering you, am I?” Grantaire asks. His eyes are impossibly bright and kind, at least in this light.

Enjolras shakes his head. “I don’t have monopoly on the sofa, it’s not like I have any right to kick you off it.”

That wide grin comes back. “Are you implying that if you had the right, you  _ would  _ kick me off?”

Enjolras licks his lips unconsciously and shrugs. “Depends on the nature of your company. If you’ve come to convince me to stand up on a table and sing, I might do it anyway.”

The grin turns into a smirk, and Enjolras’ skin is starting to heat up. “I would love to hear you sing,” he says sincerely. “The national anthem, maybe?”

Enjolras can already feel himself blushing, but the atmosphere and those eyes are making him bold enough not to care. “Why don’t you come to the meetings?”

Grantaire’s expression falters for a second. “For what, to see a bunch of optimistic and idealistic students slowly lose faith in the world? I’m not sadistic.”

The way he says  _ sadistic _ resonates as  _ masochistic _ , and for a second, there’s an unfathomable sadness in Grantaire. His fingers trace the rim of his glass slowly.

“What are your political convictions?”

“Non-existent.”

Enjolras presses for more. “Your stance on the class divide?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Undecided.”

“Your opinion on the LGBT and feminist movements?”

“They’re lovely ideas.”

Enjolras sits back and studies Grantaire for a while longer. There’s something hungry in the set of his shoulders, and he nods. “I can work with that.”

Grantaire looks confused for a moment. “What - What’s that meant to mean? I’m not a  _ project _ .”

“Come to the meetings,” Enjolras insists. “Please.”

“Why do you want me there?”

“Because maybe if you’re there, everyone will finally shut up about you,” is Enjolras’ answer, even though he should’ve said  _ because it might give you hope _ . He can see Grantaire needs it, but he is also careful not to overstep any boundaries set between him and this man he has just met.

Grantaire’s smile comes back, and Enjolras wants to lean back into him, to press their shoulders together, to feel that smile against his lips. He isn’t usually like this; he isn’t usually infatuated with someone minutes after meeting them.

There’s something in his drink, or in the jubilant atmosphere, or in the warmth of the man beside him that makes Enjolras bold enough to lean into Grantaire’s shoulder.

He spares a glance to see him take a casual sip, but there’s a little bit of color to his cheeks that instills some sort of smug pride in Enjolras.

“I might be able to spare a night or two,” Grantaire starts quietly, “but you’ll have to do a better job of convincing me.”

Enjolras understands this to be a  _ moment _ . That  _ convince _ could be an invitation for Enjolras to put his hands on Grantaire’s neck and press his lips against Grantaire’s lips.

But Enjolras is starting to think that what he wants can’t be held in a moment. He’s never been one for making out with people he’s just met.

So instead Enjolras gives Grantaire a smile. “Did you really punch an old man in the face?”

Grantaire’s expression changes from something hesitant to something indignant. “I don’t go around punching the elderly,” he insists. “He was giving ‘Chetta inappropriate comments and I just…” His face falls. “Decked him. Oh god, I’m a terrible person. I was drunk, though.”

Enjolras’ laugh comes easily, and he takes another sip from his drink. “That wouldn’t hold up in court.”

Grantaire’ laugh is breathy and light; it causes Enjolras’ eyes to follow the line of his throat to the open button of his shirt. He swallows and tries to focus on the conversation.

“I completely forgot about that. Did Courfeyrac tell you?”

“He told anyone who would listen. He seemed to think it was heroic.” Enjolras shrugs. “So do I.”

Grantaire looks down at his hands as though he doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. Enjolras wonders what would happen if he kept them coming; how deep could Grantaire blush?

“So you think that movements like feminism are just ‘ideas’ while you are, by definition, a feminist,” Enjolras continues. “I know enough about you to know how you treat women.”

“Our friends talk too much,” he grumbles. “I was just-”

“-being a decent human being?” Enjolras finishes with a wide smile.

He gets a glare in return but it only makes his smile wider. “Stop  _ doing  _ that.”

“Doing what?” he asks innocently.

“Making me out to be…” Grantaire makes an indecipherable gesture, “all  _ good _ and shit.”

Enjolras nods and tries to school his features into a solemn expression. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to think of you as anything more than an asshole.”

The breathy laugh comes back. “Are you drunk already? You’ve only just got here.” His brows pull together. “Wait, you think I’m an asshole?”

Enjolras shrugs innocently. “Sort of. And no, I’m sober.”

Another body intrudes on their space, and Enjolras turns to see Musichetta grinning down at him from the armrest of the sofa, her teeth shark like and dangerous.

“You’d know if he’s drunk,” she tells Grantaire. “He’d be on the tables with Bahorel with a rousing speech about equality and the evils of heteronormativity.” She pauses. “Or he’ll tell everyone how much he appreciates them.”

Grantaire snorts, and Enjolras isn’t liking this, because teasing Grantaire meant seeing that blush and that shy duck of the head. Enjolras gets nothing out of being teased himself.

Before Grantaire can open his mouth, Musichetta adds, “Don’t ask him anything political if you want to actually leave this sofa in the next three hours.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to defend himself, but Grantaire grins, his eyes on Enjolras. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Musichetta groans. “ _ R _ . The nights aren’t as fun without you. I tried breaking into a house the other night but because you weren’t there, it was boring.”

“That’s… really illegal,” Enjolras notes. “Do you engage in casual breaking and entering often?”

Musichetta’s eyes go wide. “Crap. You’re a lawyer. Uh, forget I said anything?”

Enjolras smiles slowly. “For a price.”

Grantaire laughs again, and Enjolras feels it from where their legs are pressed together. It makes his breath hold in his throat, and he wonders how dangerous it would be to look at Grantaire right now.

Musichetta grumbles something and wanders off to tackle Joly from behind with a kiss to his cheek.

“You haven’t even passed the bar, you shouldn’t mess with her like that,” Grantaire scolds. His smile lingers in his eyes.

“Do  _ you _ break into other people’s houses often?”

Grantaire bites his lip on a smile. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” he evades. His smile fades. “Would that bother you?”

Enjolras turns away, looking at the fun and revelry his friends are participating in. Courfeyrac shouts something across to Feuilly, who looks scandalized from where he’s holding Bahorel by the waist and hauling him into a chair. “I had a misspent youth,” he says casually. “Lets just say I can’t use handcuffs recreationally anymore.”

Grantaire chokes on his drink and wipes his mouth staring at Enjolras with wide eyes. “You-  _ Anymore _ ?”

It takes a second of silence before they’re both laughing, and Grantaire’s knocks into Enjolras comfortably. 

Everything comes so  _ easily _ with Grantaire. True, he hadn’t expected a friend of  _ his  _ friends to be so cynical despite their warnings, but for once Enjolras views this pessimism as an entertaining challenge. It makes him hungry for more. He thinks he isn’t going to last the night without doing something reckless.

Grantaire has moved slightly closer, and it would be subtle except Enjolras can feel the insistence of his eyes and when he turns his head, he can’t look away. 

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Grantaire asks softly. Enjolras decides he likes his voice with a smile in it.

“I’m sure.”

There’s a shy smile on his lips, but it only makes him looks more appealing. “Great. Can I kiss you?”

Enjolras inhales quickly. “Definitely,” he breathes, but it’s him that presses forward, that grabs the edge of Grantaire’s jaw and fits their mouths together. At the first touch something within him leaps in exhilaration. He can taste the laughter on Grantaire’s lips, and they’re gentle as he presses deeper.

Enjolras twists around for a more comfortable position and Grantaire is pushed on his back on the sofa. Neither of them have complaints, Enjolras can’t bring himself to pull away for air. His mouth opens on a surprised gasp when Grantaire lightly bites his lips, but he doesn’t take the opportunity to go deeper and Enjolras makes a small noise of frustration.

Grantaire tenses from underneath him and he pulls away slightly, opening his eyes and immediately being relieved by the look of pleasant wonder on his face. “We, uh… Probably shouldn’t do this here,” he says. His voice is warm and deep; it makes Enjolras shiver as he attempts to climb off him gracefully. 

“Oh no, please, continue,” a cheerful voice murmurs from beside them. Enjolras almost jumps, and he turns to see Bahorel in all his drunken glory, his shirt wrapped around his neck for some reason and his chest wet with either bear, tears, or sweat. He gives them a grin and a wink, and raises his glass.

“Everyone applaud, that was a wonderful performance!” he announces.

To Enjolras’ utter mortification, all his friends - who, now that he thinks about it were suspiciously quiet while he was exploring the feeling of Grantaire under him - start clapping and cheering and whistling. In fact, a few other stragglers who hadn’t been scared away by the gang of students seemed to be cheering as well.

Grantaire starts laughing, his body shaking with it, and Enjolras is disappointed that they aren’t touching anymore because he wants to feel it.

Bahorel reaches behind Enjolras to lie a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “R. You pursuer of midnight fantasies and impulsive adventures. Your fame is made immortal. You have rendered Enjolras speechless. It’s a feat worthy of the heroes of old.” He burps and lets go, almost falling over. His hand then rests on Enjolras’ head, and he gets a scowl for his trouble. “We must celebrate.”

There’s more cheering, and more glowering on Enjolras’ part, and more snickering from Grantaire. But when the laughter dies down and Bahorel wanders off, Enjolras feels hesitant fingers touch his. It’s not an invitation to hold his hand but get his attention.

“I’d apologize for him but he’s your friend too,” Grantaire tells him, not looking apologetic in the slightest. Enjolras is reminded of the when he thought he was an asshole, just minutes ago.

“I don’t do one-night stands,” he continues. “So this is the part where you tell me you’re not looking for something serious at the moment and I go dumpster diving with Bossuet.”

“Joly would kill you,” Enjolras replies automatically. He pauses for a moment. There’s no awkwardness, only Grantaire’s casual expression and the charged air between them. He thinks about hearing Grantaire’s name at every meeting. He thinks about talking of Grantaire with his friends instead of just listening.

“Will you come to the meetings?”

Grantaire smirks, and it’s a dangerous thing that captures Enjolras’ eyes. “If you talk like you kiss you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Enjolras barely hears him; he wants to kiss Grantaire, he wants it  _ yesterday _ , but he doesn’t want an audience while he does it and it’s frustrating him. “I don’t do one-night stands either.”

The smirk turns into a wide smile. “Are you asking me out by inviting me to join your revolution? How romantic.”

Enjolras finally looks up into his eyes. “I don’t do this. I don’t make out with someone I’ve just met at a bar.”

Grantaire shrugs. “First time for everything. Do you regret it?”

Enjolras huffs. “Are you kidding? I want more.”

Grantaire stands up and holds out his hand; Enjolras takes it with no hesitation. “We can go to my place. Or yours. We can have coffee and do whatever you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He offers a smile, and Enjolras smiles back. “I’ve only just met you and I already like the sound of you telling me how wrong I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! It means a lot to me, and kudos and comments are like fuel for my motivation.  
> I'm here all month folks, writing up exr and eposette and nurseydex fics hopefully  
> Come say hello on my [tumblr](http://montparn-asses.tumblr.com/) and I'll name my children after you


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